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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27282883">Blood Grime</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Simpsons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Blood Drinking, Choking, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Knifeplay, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marking, Masochism, Mommy Issues, Older Man/Younger Man, Prison Sex, Rough Sex, Sadism, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Vomiting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:55:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27282883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy would be inprisoned for around six months for drug possesion. Just turned twenty years old still looked painfully young.<br/>They'd spend a horrible sweat soaked summer together, clawing at each others souls.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sideshow Bob/Bart Simpson, Sideshow Bob/Francesca Terwilliger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blood Grime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The old warden at the prison was soft in the head. His cell had been empty a week. Over the years his family had gradually outsmarted their way out of prison. When Gino was eight he had broken out. They all thought he was just going through a sulky phase, stuck in the corner banging the chess pieces on the ground repeatedly. Then one day, in the middle of the family’s book club reading the classics of Gothic literature Gino had simply slipped through the bars of their cell. When the guards tried to chase him, he weaved his tiny body easily through their legs. When one managed to grab the boy, he stabbed him in the arm with the sharpened end of the chess piece. He stabbed his way out into the real world and no-one had seen him since.</p><p>Bob and Francesca had never been prouder.</p><p>His mother and father had pretended they’d gone senile. In the cell they were their usual selves, but during meals they dribbled their food down their chins, acted like they couldn’t remember their children, wandered aimlessly around the halls in a daze of confusion. Soon enough they were shipped off to the psych section of the prison. The staff there were much more relaxed, not expecting much of a bunch of mindless drugged up zombies. The two had simply walked past the napping guard and out the door.</p><p>The prison had been forced to release Francesca early. She’d put on a real show, getting a phone smuggled in and videoing herself sobbing hysterically in her broken English about how she was a woman in a foreign land forced to live in a male prison, how her poor baby boy had run away and she had no idea where he was. She’d easily won Springfield’s hearts. A poor bereaved mother trapped in a filthy and depraved men’s prison? There was public outrage, an absolute uproar. A campaign was started online to release her, protestors marched with signs outside the prison, people sent angry messages to the warden and the mayor.</p><p>She was released, every news camera pointed in her face as she pretended to weep. She’d gotten boatloads of money from interviews and TV appearances. She’d put most of it into her search to find Gino.</p><p>Cecil, not really one for big grand theatrical plots like the rest of the family, set up a program in the prison to teach the men to read and write, putting on a sweet charitable face. It looked so good to the parole board, he was soon walking free. As soon as he was out, the Literacy program was dropped like a hot potato, to the great disappointment of many of the inmates. They quickly figured out they’d all been pawns in his little game and he’d only been feigning his interest in their wellbeing.</p><p>Bob still received letters and calls from Francesca and Cecil, the only ones legally free, demanding to know what he was going to do to get himself out. They were absolutely baffled by his lack of interest in freedom.</p><p>“Brother, you’ve become institutionalized!” Cecil exclaimed in horror. Bob couldn’t really argue with him. He was just tired of plots and schemes. Tired of it all. He could barely even find it in him to eat. His hair had grown longer, just past his shoulders, he’d lost weight, no more familiar paunch around the stomach, big black bags under the eyes. Francesca fretted, said he looked gaunt. Maybe in a few years he’d find it in him to be bothered. But right now, he just didn’t care anymore. The years of failed plans and humiliating defeats had worn him down.</p><p>The cell wasn’t empty for long. His psychiatrist raged at the warden so angrily, their voice echoed down the corridor.</p><p>“Are you some kind of idiot? Have you any idea of their history? All the work getting Terwiliger over this murderous rage and you throw the object of his obsession in to his cell?”</p><p>“We have to put people in by their surnames,” the warden replied nonchalantly. “It’s just how it is.”</p><p>“It’s going to end in goddamn disaster and it’ll be their blood on your hands, warden!”</p><p>It was second last month of end of spring when he arrived. The prison was sweltering hot already, the stone walls burning when you leant against them, everything reeking of body odour, hundreds of men all crowded up together, sweating, stinking and suffocating on each other’s rank moist breath.</p><p>The boy would be there for around six months for drug possession. Just turned twenty years old, tweaked out on heroin. He had a nasty blond mullet and peach fuzz whiskers. He still hadn’t shed the puppy fat and it made him look all the more painfully young.</p><p>The first thing he did when he entered the cell was wave and put his stuff on the top bunk, going up to climb onto it. It was clearly Bob’s bed. He had photos of his family on the wall, him and Francesca carrying baby Gino back in Italy, him and Cecil when they were teenagers, the family gathered around the dining table at their parent’s dwelling for Christmas dinner.</p><p>He smacks him upside the head at once and Bart falls against the bars with a dull clank.</p><p>“Chill out Bobby,” he says with a grin. He already wants to gouge his eyes out of his skull and it’s only been a minute.</p><p>When Cecil comes over to visit, they both stare at the table across the room, where Bart and his mother and sisters are sitting. His grotesque father was outside in the hall more concerned with the vending machine. The youngest child, only ten, turned around and flicked her chin at them. The mother with the ridiculous hair put an arm around her, scolding the child nervously, face full of fear as she eyed the two men.</p><p>“Who in the right mind would put you two together?” Cecil said in disbelief. Bob just snorted.</p><p>“You know perfectly well this place is run by drooling dunderheads’ brother,” he replied. He’s twisting his nail into the table top, his shoulders clenched underneath his ears, jaw set. He’s full of boiling energy, fluttering through his muscles. He feels like a wolf about to strike.</p><p>“I’ll get our lawyers on it,” Cecil said. “This is an absolute travesty.”</p><p>He manages to hiss out a thank you, still fixated on the table top. Across the hall the mother has burst into tears, sobbing about her ‘special little guy.’ Bart looks around with embarrassment, trying to shush her.</p><p>“And please, Bob,” Cecil said in a desperate tone. “Try to eat. You’re far too thin.”</p><p>Bob smiled grimly down at his scratching finger.</p><p>“Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look,” he muttered.</p><p>Cecil just sighed.</p><p>“He thinks too much,” he replied. “Such men are dangerous.”</p><p>When visitation was over, Lisa, eighteen now, eyed the guards and when she sees they’re not looking, bent down to snarl into his ear;</p><p>“If you do anything to hurt him, Robert, you’ll live to regret it.”</p><p>His grim smile grew wider.</p><p>“He’s managing to hurt himself completely fine without my help, Lisa,” he replied.</p><p>She glared as the guards call the visitors away. As his family leave, Bob watched him. He’s got his fingers in his mouth, a frightened look in his eyes like a little lost lamb. He pulled his lower lip down. There’s black ink there, standing up against the wet pink flesh. The letters read; love.</p><p>*</p><p>The rumours about prison showers are untrue. The showers were only on for ten minutes at morning and night. Taking your time to wash yourself is a cardinal sin. You get in and out as quick as you can. If you lingered too long the impatient queue waiting for their turn would growl warningly like a pack of dogs. His first week in prison, his hair grew greasy and foul, not able to clean it in time. He learned to soap up head to toe and lather in the shampoo while waiting in line, soaking it all off in his meagre amount of time under the spray.</p><p>As he runs his hands through his thick mane, the cold water like a hundred knives over his skin, he sees through slitted eyes, the boy waiting in line. Most new inmates were too nervous to get naked in the shower their first week and bathed with their underwear still on. Not Bart. He slowly took in his form, looking him up and down.</p><p>In Italy, Francesca and he liked to take young women and men to bed with them. They had similar tastes, big busted brunette girls and golden haired boys with tanned skin.</p><p>Bart wasn’t as elegant as the boys they took to bed. He had tattoos, a black band around his left wrist, the old clichéd Mom in a heart on his right bicep, vines around his hips and ass, an upside down cross over the ribs. His ass was nice and round and he has blond hair all down his pudgy belly, blond pubes and a plump little cock between his thighs. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be so pretty?</p><p>He noticed Bart was staring back at him, up from between his lashes. Taking in his pale white skin, lean limbs, the sharp angles of his body and the faded prison tattoos. Bart caught his eyes and the corner of his mouth tipped up in a coy smile. Bob shot him a withering look and turned away, rinsing the last of the shampoo from his hair.</p><p>No it was the laundry where the more licentious of activities happened. There was a bench hidden between a stack of huge dryers and the wall that the guards couldn’t see. A cupboard full of mops and buckets stacked on shelves that could be easily cleared. Bob liked the luxuries in life. There were people in prison who could sneak him in half decent wine, food that wasn’t prison slop, almost acceptable cologne. He’d set up with his wine and good parchment on his table, try to ignore the bars and pretend he was in a cabin somewhere on a rocky island in the middle of a stormy sea writing the next great American classic.</p><p>All he had to do was get on his knees in the laundry, let someone grab his hair and shove their cock down his throat. Lie down and close his eyes as his legs were hiked up over a pair of burly shoulders, pressing forward to penetrate his insides. It was a good deal in his book. Although he tended to lean more towards the dominant role, it was nice to switch it up every now and again.</p><p>He was in the cupboard with three of them this time, a fourth standing by the door keeping watch. He can’t be bothered remembering their names. On his back, lost in the feeling of rough calloused hands tweaking and twisting his nipples, fingers popping past his spit swollen lips and fondling his balls as they jam their cocks mercilessly inside his body. He’s already had a load poured down his throat and he felt it sloshing in his stomach as his prostate is battered with every slam of thick muscular hips. The wet sloppy sounds of hushed fucking fill his ears. The stink of sex hangs in the cramped space, the shelf hot underneath his back. His breath escapes him in little hitches, his cock bouncing full and red at his semen soaked stomach.</p><p>“He fuckin’ loves it,” one of them muttered. “Look at ‘im. Hard as fuckin’ rock.”</p><p>The man inside him groaned, pulled out with a squelch and he lets his mouth fall open.</p><p>“Put out yer tongue,” they grunt and there are fingers at his chin forcing it open wider. Hot come spatters onto his face in thick ropes, covering his lips and mouth, trickling down his neck. The next one moved in, pressing against his winking puffy hole. With a pop the thick organ is in all the way.</p><p>“So loose,” another one chuckled and his ass is smacked and pinched. The new inmate fucking him rocked in so hard and fast his whole body jerks violently against the shelf.</p><p>“Close…close…” he gasped, incapable of proper speech. Hands are back on his cock, rough, squeezing, groping. The muscles in his thighs are trembling as his balls contract and the come starts pouring out. They all croon with approval.</p><p>“Good boy.”</p><p>“That’s the way baby.”</p><p>“So sweet.”</p><p>He breath is caught in his chest and he’s shaking as a fresh load is pumped deep inside his aching and stretched hole. When the inmate pulled out the semen squirted from him. At once they’re pushing their fingers in past the abused rim and he let out a shuddering cry, overstimulated, cock sore and spent.</p><p>“Guards,” the watcher at the door said and there are more pats on his face and ass as they finally pull away with appreciative mutters. He’s floating on a sea of bliss from his climax. Slowly opening his eyes his legs flop down, nipples still standing proudly erect. They leave the cupboard to escape the guard and he wearily sits up, pulling his shirt back down where it was bunched under his chin, picking up his underwear and pants from the ground. Through the slightly open door he saw Bart working at sorting the laundry. His cheeks are flushed and he’s pretending he hadn’t seen or heard anything. His workpants are tented and his hands shake slightly as he folded the clothes.</p><p>He stared the boy down, watching his neck and ears flush pink under his stare, relishing in his discomfort. Then after he’s redressed, he goes slinking out the door.</p><p>*</p><p>Wardens never lasted very long. This brand new one liked to think herself a tough piece of work. He’d been in the prison for years and had seen dozens like her. They were the ones who’d burn out and have to go on stress leave. She went through the usual routine of showing them all who was boss. Cracked down on drugs, roughing up all the suppliers and throwing them in solitary.</p><p>Bart stoked the flames.</p><p>“It’s bullshit,” he’d mutter to an inmate in the queue for breakfast. “I heard she wants to ban movie night. Then what? Next thing you’ll know it we won’t even have visitors no more. It all starts little y’know. Then all of a sudden, bam, you got nothing.”</p><p>It was whispered around the prison like Chinese checkers. He watched from afar, the storm on the horizon. Did you hear they were getting rid of the televisions? Shutting the library? Banning movie night? Confiscating cigarettes?</p><p>There was no proof the warden was going to do any of that, but the paranoia remained like the sizzle of imminent lightning.</p><p>“We oughta do something about it,” Bart would say in mock outrage. “Sure, we’re prisoners but that doesn’t mean we’re not human beings, goddammit!”</p><p>And;</p><p>“Y’know there’s more of us then there is of them.”</p><p>In his eyes Bob could see the gleaming mischief. The guards hadn’t found his stash of smack. He’d pried open the end of the metal chair leg and taped it inside. Bob’s chair that he shouldn’t have touched.</p><p>Bart didn’t really care about the hard-ass warden. He just wanted to entertain himself.</p><p>During yard time, a guard snapped at his old friend Snake to put out his cigarette.</p><p>“We’re like totally human beings too man,” Snake snarled back, rising to his feet. There were growls of agreement. The guard grabbed his baton as the crowd of men started flexing their muscles and baring their teeth. In the corner of the yard Bart put a hand over his mouth perfectly throwing his voice;</p><p>“You do what we say you bunch of maggots!”</p><p>The guard looked around in panic, as Snake shoved him in the middle of the chest.</p><p>“What you say?” he said.</p><p>“Maggots?” someone else said. “Who you calling maggots, son?”</p><p>“The only maggots here are you fucking lot!” another voice called as the circle tightened around the guard who shouted into his walkie talkie for backup.</p><p>Bart watched on gleefully as all hell broke loose. Bob retreated to his cell to wait the riot out. The guard was beaten half to death. Men ran up and down the halls, hooting and hollering, throwing burning rolls of toilet paper, smashing and breaking everything they could get their hands on. Bart bounced around like a boy in a candy store egging everyone on.</p><p>“Fuck em up, fuck em up!” he shouted delightedly. He ran down the kitchen knocking oil and flour all over the floor. One of the guards running after him slipped in it and broke his wrist. Finally, the warden sent in the riot squad who shot rubber bullets and pumped the air full of pepper spray. They ended up in lockdown.</p><p>“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” Bob told him from the upper bunk and getting a middle finger in response.</p><p>“What a classy retort,” he drawled returning to his book. Bart paced the cell like a trapped rat. It was only the first day of the lockdown and the boy was almost rattling with boredom. He obviously hadn’t considered the consequences of stirring everyone up. At least before, Bob only really had to see him in the evenings. Now they were up in each other’s faces twenty-seven.</p><p>“Wanna arm wrestle?” he asked one night while he was writing a letter with an ink pot and fountain pen. He ignored him. The boy flopped onto his bunk and started flicking at the metal frame of the bed with a ratty pencil. Tapping and tapping, like it was a drum kit. Tap, tap, tapping the sound a needle into Bob’s eardrum, burrowing into his brain.</p><p>Thankfully the guards hadn’t touched Bob’s own stash of creature comforts. He’d been there so long he tended to get away with things the fresher lot couldn’t. While others had their contraband ripped from them, the guards just made lewd remarks about his photos of Francesca then let him be.</p><p>Bart’s eyes followed him as he stood up and went over to a section of the wall. Prying one of the stones open he pulled out a small jug of red wine. Going back to his table, he poured it into his prison standard cup. He felt a twinge of irritation that he couldn’t pour it into a proper wine glass he could swill.</p><p>“Is that what you get for your little laundry rendezvous’?” Bart asked with a crooked smile.</p><p>“That’s a big word for you,” he replied.</p><p>“Can I have some?” he asked, gesturing at the jug and Bob went back to ignoring him. Taking a sip, he dipped his pen in the ink pot and wrote across the page, nib scratching the paper.</p><p>“Bob can I have some?” he asked again. “Pretty please?”</p><p>He was kicking the mattress above him, chewing on his pencil.</p><p>“Bob, Bob, Bob…”</p><p>The older man pressed his thumb right underneath his twitching eye. The chewed pencil suddenly spirals through the air, pinging off the metal table. Bob slammed his hand down with barely restrained fury.</p><p>“Sorry,” Bart smirked, not sounding in the least bit sincere. He got up off the bed, went over and bent down by Bob’s feet to pick up the pencil. He doesn’t need to arch his back like that, sticking his round ass in the air. The air is too thick, the blasted summer heat making his throat feel tight, the oily sweat sliding slowly down his neck and under the collar of his shirt.</p><p>As Bart straightened up, he stuck his finger right into the cup, putting the wine slick digit into his smug mouth. It looked like blood on his teeth, dribbling out the corner of his lips. Rage flared in his belly hot and acidic, heat flaring in his face. All at once he struck like a rattlesnake, hand swinging back and smacking him so hard across the face he crumpled to the ground.</p><p>“Jesus!” he yelped, clutching at his cheek. Then he burst into laughter. As he gets up, he accidentally bumped the table and the ink pot spilt all over his papers. When Bart saw it his eyes widened and he ducked as Bob lunged at him, hands coiled talons, teeth showing like a rabid animal.</p><p>“You spawn of a vermin demon, blight of humanity, snivelling varlet, zounderkite, festering measle, fucking bastard!”</p><p>“Chill out Bobby,” he laughed as he ran around the room to avoid the man’s wild flailing hands. He managed to smack the older man upside the head and Bob grabbed him by the collar slamming his crown into the bed frame and letting him crash to the floor.</p><p>He stared down at the boy, chest heaving, teeth clenched. The horrible sweltering heat in the cramped cell beat down on him. Sticky and too close, every point of his skin feeling hot, hot, hot.</p><p>The handprint flared red under Bart’s eye. Blood dribbled from the cut at his eyebrow down his face, over his lips. His red tongue flicked out to lick it as he looked at him from the ground.</p><p>“<em>Up,”</em> he said through clenched teeth and Bart blinked for a second before getting uncertainly to his feet.</p><p>“Strip.”</p><p>Bart stared at him like a deer in the headlights. Bob’s eyes flashed dangerously and Bart looked down, hands fumbling at his pants. He almost thought he could hear the boy’s heart pounding painfully in his throat.</p><p>His shirt, pants and underwear dropped messily to the floor. His cock was full, quivering high against his belly. Bob remained still with his head to the side, eyes thin dark slits.</p><p>“<em>Get on your knees,</em>” he rasped out. Bart landed with a thump on the ground again, right between his legs. He glanced at the tented front of Bob’s pants for a second before looking away, all his breath gone, licking his spit-soaked lips.</p><p>He was pulling himself out and before Bart got a chance to brace himself, his hand was at the back of his head forcing him forward. The boy clenched his eyes shut and let the heavy organ stretch his mouth wide open and hit him viciously at the back of the throat.</p><p>Tears dribbled down his cheeks and he gagged, trying to slide off to get a breath but Bob kept him there easily with one-hand until he was retching and heaving. He looked up and Bob felt his thin lips tip up slightly. He finally let him go for about three-seconds to get his breath back, sniveling, strings of saliva dribbling down from his mouth. Then the hand was back and Bart took him down as far as he could go, the grip on his head solid and unwavering.</p><p>He's all teeth and drool and choking. A sudden seed of an idea grows uncomfortably in the back of his mind.</p><p>“You’ve never been with a man before, have you?” he said, voice all slithery and dark like black oil. He watched as the flush on Bart’s neck and ear spread to his cheeks and down his chest. His eyes flashed with fear, then embarrassment and finally defiance. He was like an open book.</p><p>He loosened his grip in his hair and the boy pops off him, heaving for breath.</p><p>“Me and my best friend used to wank and suck each other off in Senior Year,” he protested and twisted nervously when Bob goes over to the sink, picking up a small tub of Vaseline. Bob sat down at the lower bunk.</p><p>“Not boys, Bart,” he whispered unscrewing the tub. “Men.”</p><p>Bart’s head ducked down almost shy.</p><p>“Come here,” he said and his voice was all gravel as he motioned for the boy to sit in his lap. When he hastily scrambled to obey, burying his face into the man’s sweaty neck, Bob scooped up the greasy half melted jelly, fisting it over his cock. He lets the boy thread his stubby fingers through his hair, shuddering all through his body as Bob pressed his cheeks apart with dripping fingers. He was tight, tight and he pushed the thick head of his cock against him.</p><p>The much ignored little voice in his head whispers ‘are you really about to do this? Are you really going to be his first experience with another man? Are you really going to take part of his virginity?’’</p><p>Of course he was. It was absolutely wonderfully sick. This way, he’d always be in his skin, like a thousand gnawing ants. He’d always own Bart’s soul.</p><p>“I want you to fuck yourself on me...” he whispered into his hair, one hand firm on the small of his back, the other splayed over his hip bone. “Let’s see how much stamina you have.”</p><p>Bart tried to hold back his moan, his eyes a haze of lust and aching need. Biting into his lip, he pressed his hands down on the man’s thighs for balance, sitting back down and letting his length sink deeper inside him. Bob’s eyes were dark, his chest rising and falling slightly. He never broke eye-contact with the boy canting himself up and down against his cock, dripping thighs spread wide as they straddled the man’s rocking hips.</p><p>He teased his pink nipples so the boy cried out, head lolling back.</p><p>“<em>Uh...” </em>he gasped and Bob felt his inner muscles twitch and his entire body spasm. He shakily started sliding himself down on the man’s throbbing cock even faster, sloppily, his hair falling across his face, the man’s deep husky sounds filling up the cell and making everything too hot and intense and shuddering.</p><p>Bob reached up to brush his hair out of his face and the boy looked at him with his huge eyes, pupils fully blown. He took the man’s wrist and wrapped his lips around two long fingers all at once, coating them with saliva, suckling at them into his mouth. He rocked his hips so hard the man clenched his teeth and groaned long and deep in his chest, rolling the boy’s nipples between the two fingers on his free hand.</p><p>Bart took his wet mouth off the damp digits and trailed his own fingers over his peaked nubs and down over his ruddy red cock, other hand almost shyly touching the man’s chest and stomach. The man grunted heavily, head falling back, before he gripped the boy’s waist and began pounding up inside of him, rich and deep and fast, heavy balls smacking against the younger’s ass.</p><p>“<em>I can’t...I can’t...oh...oh..</em>.” the boy was almost sobbing, working himself up and down as the man pummeled endlessly in and out of his swollen asshole, slamming against his prostate. He fisted his cock and let out a broken moan, the man’s fingers brushing against the stretched seam where he filled the boy up tight.</p><p>“You going to come for me, sweetheart?” he drawled, eyes dark and burning and wolfish, the unstopping piston of his hips picking up pace. It made Bart grin boyishly, looking down so his hair fell over his eyes again, body jolting up and down in the man’s lap, strong fingers digging into his buttocks hard enough to bruise.</p><p>“Y-yes...y-yes...”</p><p>“Then come Bartholomew,” Bob commanded, voice rough like velvet and liquor. He suddenly stopped the rhythm of his thrusts to press the blunt head of his cock against the boy’s prostate for a whole glorious few seconds, the unbelievable pressure making every bone in his thin body melt with ecstasy, Bart’s mouth a perfect ‘o’ of pleasure. The man slid all the way out, before slamming back in again, stilling his hips to push against that sweet spot inside him and the waves of hot water starting surging from his belly and through his body too hard, too fast, too good and totally liquid, rocking back with his spine arched. Bart’s toes curled and his eyes glazed heatedly over.</p><p>“Uh...” he gasped, unable to hold it in any longer, twisting and squirming in the man’s lap as his cock slammed in again and again and again. “Uh, uh, uh...”</p><p>He felt the muscles in Bart’s thighs start to jerk and twitch out of control, clamping down vice tight over the heated organ pumping up inside of him. The final wave hit the boy and the come spurted over his belly, dribbling down over the man’s heaving chest. He collapsed into Bob’s arms, who fisted his hair as he slicked in and then out of his ass one last time, coming with a deep rumbling sigh. Picking him up, Bart’s legs gripped around his back as he turned him around on the bed.</p><p>He hit the mattress, Bob’s body pressing him down and his mouth reconnected with his again, the man taking his face in both hands and sliding his tongue through his lips. It was a deep kiss, Bob taking full control, lips devouring him and stealing all his breath away, fingers stroking endlessly at his hair. The boy’s hips stuttered weakly against his, still shaking with the aftermaths of his orgasm.</p><p>The next day, Bart’s sheets are spotted with blood. A proud smile curls on his lips at the sight of it.</p><p>*</p><p>Not many people knew how voracious his sexual appetite was. It didn’t fit his dignified persona. Francesca and he had been a perfect fit. She often complained how men couldn’t keep up with her, wanting to go to sleep after the first round. Not Bob, she said fondly.</p><p>“I can ride your cock all day and night and milk you dry over and over,” she’d say in Italian and he’d grin back. It had been terrible in prison together. They couldn’t fuck in the cell with the rest of the family there and they couldn’t sneak off to the laundry because everyone would swarm to try to cop a feel of his wife’s tits. She’d broken many a hand and he’d sliced a man’s nose clean off his face over it.</p><p>The occasional dalliance in the laundry with other inmates didn’t happen enough and were too short, the guards always around the corner to interrupt them. He’d felt sexually frustrated for years now.</p><p>It was like heaven having a young thing full of boundless energy to play with again and again all through the night until they were too tired to even move. And someone he could take out all his sadistic urges on. That was one of the few things he and Francesca disagreed on. She was completely uninterested in “all that hitting each other bullshit.”</p><p>That’s why they brought in the young women and men into their bed back in Italy. So he could get all that energy out.</p><p>The lockdown was lifted after a week. It was the weekend when people could stroll around the cellblock freely. He was shaving and in the mirror he could see that Bart’s head was hanging off the bed, staring at him upside down through lidded eyes. He stared narrowly back, sending his razor down through the soap on his chin.</p><p>There’s a tap at the bars and he turned. One of his laundry pals is there, with a trolley full of clean folded up clothes.  He slunk over to him.</p><p>“Hey sweet thing,” the inmate said under his breath, leering. He handed him his pile of clothes and there’s something solid hidden amongst the fabric.</p><p>“There’s something in there for your baby boy too,” he said and Bob is confused for a moment, thinking that he meant Gino. Then the inmate sent his leery look to Bart and he felt a shiver down his spine. Word spread fast in the prison.</p><p>“Maybe you could share him around as repayment, eh?” the inmate said and Bart twisted nervously on the mattress. He took a seat at the table as the inmate leaves.</p><p>“What is it?” Bart said as he unfolded the clothes. A pack of good quality cigarettes, a fresh lot of wine, so dark it looked almost black and a baggie of smack.</p><p>Bob doesn’t smoke a lot but every now and again he gets the urge. He tapped a cigarette out, striking a match and lighting up. He took a drag.</p><p>“You smoke weird,” said Bart at once, looking down at the cigarette between Bob’s middle and index finger, the palm facing the outside.</p><p>“It’s the European style,” he said, drawing the smoke into his lungs.</p><p>“It’s sexy,” he replied. “You looked really good before in that white t-shirt, shaving.”</p><p>Bob just murmured wordlessly in reply, tapping the ash.</p><p>“Y’know when I was a kid,” said Bart, blinking slowly at him. “Before the whole framing thing, I knew I was into dudes cause I always liked looking at the half naked man in the grass skirt on the Krusty show.”</p><p>Bob twisted his shoulders. This conversation was immensely uncomfortable. He didn’t like thinking of all the years he’d known him as a child. It made this whole thing they had feel all the more twisted and wrong and not in a fun way.</p><p>“C’mon Bobby,” he said. “Were you ever pedo for me?”</p><p>White fury blared through his body at once. He was the most infuriating thing alive, like a tick burrowing under his skin.</p><p>“What kind of demented thing is that to say?” he bit out.</p><p>Bart snickered as he got up. He reached over for the baggie.</p><p>“Don’t take it,” he snapped, smacking his hand. “You’ll be expected in the laundry if you do.”</p><p>Bart shrugged.</p><p>“Aww c’mon Mama,” he said with a curling smile, knowing how much he hated the perverse pet name. “It might be fun.”</p><p>Something dangerous curled in the base of his stomach. He imagined it, the other men with their clumsy hands and grubby bodies pawing at the boy’s skin, making him squeal as they all take him one after the other.</p><p>“You are,” he said slowly one word at the time through clenched teeth. “Forbidden from letting anyone else touch you. You are mine.”</p><p>The smile on his face spread wider.</p><p>“I can do what I want,” he said. “I’ll fuck every guy in the prison if I feel like it.”</p><p>Bob took a deep swig of the wine. It’s stronger then he’s used to, made his mind feel foggy. Taking another drag of his cigarette, he reached over, pulled the boy forward and claimed his lips, breathing the smoke and pouring the mouthful of wine down his throat. Bart choked and sputtered the wine dribbling down their chins like blood.</p><p>He pulled away, took Bart’s wrist, stroking the delicate skin there dotted with old needle marks. He pressed his mouth to the fluttering pulse point, lowered the burning end of the cigarette towards his skin, gripping his arm tight but Bart doesn’t try to break away. His eyes fill up with excitement.</p><p>His gasp is harsh and pleasured when Bob puts the cigarette with a sizzle out on his wrist.</p><p>“Bob,” he sighed.</p><p>“Get on the bed,” he breathed harshly.</p><p>Bart nearly stumbled as he went back to the bottom bunk, taking the tub of petroleum jelly with him. Bob felt the dark lovely ache between his legs, the stifling heat of the room around them, the smell of wine and sweat and heady arousal like suffocating smog. From the inside of the table leg, he got out Bart’s syringe, spoon and lighter, prepared the smack for use as the boy watched, greased fingers working his cock.</p><p>Rising to his feet he picked up the razor from the sink and slid over to him. He saw the mix of fear and lust in his eyes as he looked at the shining blade. Stretching up Bob got his pillowcase from the top bunk. Then he climbed into the lower bunk. The bottom of Bart’s shirt is tented by his straining cock.</p><p>First he tightened the pillowcase around his arm until the vein popped up. Flicking the syringe he pressed the needle to his skin, watched as the liquid disappear into his body, the syringe filling up with blood.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter if you take every last bit of it, I won’t let them touch you,” he said, resting his hand in his hair. “If they try I’ll flay all the skin off their bones and fuck you next to their bloody corpses.”</p><p>Soon Bart’s eyes are drooping, fingers curled in his mouth. He pulled his shirt down over his shoulder. Bending down he put the sharp edge of the razor into his skin, the point sinking in. Bart mewled as he carved his initials into his collarbone. R.U.T.J. Robert Underdunk Tewiliger Junior.</p><p>The blood ran down his chest, over his nipple, pooling at the belly button, drying in his blond pubic hair. He got down between his legs, dragged his tongue up the dark red line, rich metallic taste in his mouth. He went up to the open wound and bit down. Bart clutched at him and trembled and trembled.</p><p>He knew he’s like a human form of the drugs to Bart. Bart loved the fear, the thrill, the pleasure and the depravity. Bob tried to tell himself he kept doing this because he’s young and pretty.  But really it’s just a new way to destroy him. Leaving scars in his soul that will never heal.</p><p>Looming above him he pulled his shirt off over his head. Then he pushed the razor to his own skin, right below his dark pebbled nipple. Taking the boy’s head, he pushed his face into his chest. Bart opened his mouth, suckling at the wound, lapping up the blood.</p><p>He’s reminded of a breastfeeding child and felt fingers of repulsion down his spine. The horrible pet name rang in his mind; Mama.</p><p>“Who do you belong to?” he said, voice like dark velvet.</p><p>“Y-you,” he slurred back, voice muffled by his skin. Bob threaded his fingers through his hair, stroking the soft blond locks.</p><p>“Yesss,” he breathed back, stretching the word out long and low.</p><p>When he’s finished with him, both reaching shuddering climaxes, the inmates in the cells around them break into sarcastic applause and cheering. Bart wriggled underneath the man with a nervous smile. The siren blared for everyone to go to lunch.</p><p>Down in the cafeteria, Bob sat down with a cup of tea and an apple. He watched Bart move through the line, putting a piece of bread and an apple on his tray and moving towards the inmate ladling out the slop. He actually doesn’t seem to mind it. He told Bob it reminded him of his Mom’s home cooking. He doesn’t seem to realize what an insult that is to his mother.</p><p>When the ladling inmate saw Bart, his face coiled up, eyeing the blood stain on his shirt over his new razor scar, the cigarette burn on his wrist. Bart ignored the stare going over to take a seat across from Bob. He peered with bemusement at the finicky way the older man peeled and cut up his apple with the plastic cutlery. He just bit into his own piece of fruit without a care.</p><p>Someone let out a wolf whistle from the neighbouring table. Bob doesn’t even look up, barely surprised at the attention they were getting. Prison was boring. Cellmates’ hooking up was a juicy bit of gossip that kept the place interesting.</p><p>“Is he your Daddy?” the inmate sneered. Bart’s neck and ears went pink.</p><p>“More like my mother,” he replied with a shrug. “He’s a real fucking nag.”</p><p>The inmate blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. He turned back to his meal, sending him a confused look out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>Yes the sex was sweet as rotting candy but the fucking kid is such a nuisance he wondered if it’s even worth the fun. He felt like he was constantly yelling at him over one thing or another.</p><p>“Keep your godforsaken part of the cell tidy or I’ll stuff those infantile comic books down your throat,” he spat.</p><p>“Why is there yellow hair on my antiperspirant, it’s the middle of the blasted summer use your own wretched deodorant,” he raged.</p><p>“Is it that hard to not splash the lavatory seat you revolting subhuman scum?”</p><p>“Okay, Mama,” he’d always say back. He wanted to force him up against the wall bite off his lips so he can’t smirk anymore. Sew his mouth shut so he can just have a bit of peace and quiet at last.</p><p>The warden springs a drug test on them all and when she found that too many inmates were still high out of their minds, she bought in the sniffer dogs. Bart managed to sneak his stash out of the cell just in time, hiding it behind an old wall socket in the library. His face worked with worry as the guards ripped the place inside out. His stash was found. Luckily no one could pin it on him, but still, no more smack.</p><p>Bob felt boiling resentment for the godforsaken warden. Now he’d be stuck with the kid going through withdrawals.</p><p>That night he’s snuffling in the bottom bunk coughing, sniffling. Lying above him, he stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’ll choke on his own spit and suffocate. The thought made his chest thrum with pleasure. The pained whimpers are like a lullaby that rock him to sleep.</p><p>It's nearly three in the morning when he woke all at once. There are muffled sobs and dry retching from below and the cell reeks of vomit. It’s going to be an absolute nightmare to deal with during the hot day ahead.</p><p>“Mom…” he heard him mewl like a kitten wanting milk. “Mom…”</p><p>There’s a splattering sound of him throwing up on the concrete floor.</p><p>“You can’t do that in the sink for heaven’s sake?” he snapped and the boy just cried pathetically in response.</p><p>He got up, large feet hitting the warm floor. He just needed to urinate is all. It's not like he cared. In his bunk Bart’s face is white as the moon, eyes puffy through the darkness. Mucus is running down from his mouth and nose and he was being wracked with cold shivers. After Bob relieved himself, he washed his hand in the sink. He wet a dull grey washcloth, filling the prison standard cup with water.</p><p>Pulling the chair over to his bedside, he took a seat. Placing the back of his hand on the boy’s forehead, he felt him burning up with fever.</p><p>If he went and died, he told himself they’d all suspect him of doing the deed and he’d end up in solitary again. He cupped the back of his head making him drink.</p><p>“Gargle it,” he said and Bart obeyed.</p><p>“Spit.”</p><p>He sprayed the water back into the cup. Placing the washcloth over his forehead, he watched, narrow eyed as he endlessly shivered. Taking the cup he got up to clean it in the sink, pour some more, got some toilet paper to mop up the vomit.</p><p>Despite the humid heat of the summer night Bart is still shaking like he’s been plunged in an icy sea, slick with freezing sweat. After Bob is done cleaning his sick, he stretched up to his bunk and gathered a few items. Throwing his pillow next to Bart, he climbed over him, lying down across the cramped mattress. He bundled him up in both his own and the man’s blanket. The body beside him is almost vibrating with anxiety.</p><p>“I…wanna…go home…” he said with a sob caught in his throat. “I…want my….mom…”</p><p>So very, very young.</p><p>“Stop crying,” he said sharply and it just made him whimper harder. It’s like the reality of the situation has finally sunk in all at once. Locked away in prison, alone and afraid like an abandoned puppy at the pound.</p><p>He slid on his reading glasses, picked up his book and flips on his book light that he’d taken from the bunk above. He always liked to do a spot of reading whenever he couldn’t sleep. The boy tugged on his arm, tucking himself beneath the man’s armpit.</p><p>“Read to me,” he said. Bob sighed, long and hard. He opened his book where he left it last. He begins to read out the paragraph, low and sonorous.</p><p>‘“But at that instant, another sensation swept through me as quick as lightning. I was conscious of the presence of the Count and of his being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened involuntarily, I saw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair woman and with giant's power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury, the white teeth champing with rage and the fair cheeks blazing red with passion. But the Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even to the demons of the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as if the flames of hell fire blazed behind them. His face was deathly pale and the lines of it were hard like drawn wires. The thick eyebrows that met over the nose now seemed like a heaving bar of white-hot metal. With a fierce sweep of his arm, he hurled the woman from him and then motioned to the others, as though he were beating them back. It was the same imperious gesture that I had seen used to the wolves. In a voice which, though low and almost in a whisper seemed to cut through the air and then ring in the room he said,</p><p>‘"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me."’’</p><p>Bart’s eyes are drooping shut, face slack with tiredness.</p><p>“Mom…” he murmured again, fingers in his mouth, eyelids fluttering.</p><p>“I’m not your mother, Bart,” he said and the boy just sniffed, snuggling in to his chest more firmly.</p><p>“Mama,” he said in his sleep. It doesn’t sound like how he usually said it, a nickname meant to irritate him.</p><p>Each time he tried to get up, the infernal little parasite hung on to his arm even tighter. Bob grabbed his hand, nearly twisted one of Bart’s thumbs off the bone. He let out a pathetic whine sounding like some small creature being crushed under foot. Sighing again he flopped back into the mattress. Taking of his glasses, he settled back down on the pillow, fingers absent-mindedly carding through the boy’s hair. He drifts off to sleep.</p><p>Someone in the cell besides them is humming as they brush their teeth. It must be morning. There’s tightness in his chest and stomach, his breath ragged.</p><p>He has a mouthful of blonde hair. His arm is around him, fingers nestled underneath his sweatshirt against the hot furry stomach. Bart, wrapped in his arms is rubbing his backside against Bob’s crotch. His fingers bury into his flesh and Bart makes a little muffled laugh.</p><p>“Rise and shine,” he whispered, voice still thick and phlegmy with sickness. Acting like his emotional moment the night before never even happened. Repressed deep down under mounds of denial.</p><p>With a growl, he pushed an arm up around his neck, tightening. Bart laughed higher, more excited. He can’t help himself. Pulling the hand resting on his stomach away, he took his straining cock out of his pants, tugged the boy’s sleep pants down to reveal the supple flesh of his ass. Bundling his body in closer, he shoved a hand down the front of Bart’s underwear, gripping him. Throwing a leg around his hip, he began to grind against him as he pumped his cock. His arm squeezes, squeezes his throat and Bart’s fingers fly up to grip his wrist.</p><p>“Feeling better?” he whisperd into his ear, the sounds of his hand working between his thighs wet and slick. Bart bucked against him and Bob’s hips roll harder, harder. He’s murmuring desperately;</p><p>“Fuck me, fuck me, please, please, fuck me…”</p><p>He kissed the side of his mouth, kissed him beneath his ear, kissed the scar on his collarbone and nosed into the crook of his neck. Bart leant his head around and kissed back, his spit running down the side of his cheek, kisses soggy and wet. Their tongues danced together, starving hungry. He tastes of peppermint gum. He must have chewed some to get rid of the vomit taste.</p><p>He moves, pushing the boy onto his back and straddling his waist, trapping him against the bed, framed in by the man’s arms. Tugging at the band of his sleep pants he rips them down with his underwear.</p><p>Bart’s cock was bright red and bobbing on his naked belly. Bob touched his taint with finger, touched and touched it. His hole was still so tiny reminding him again that he’d never been with another man but him. He leant down, his morning stubble scratching at his thighs as he slipped his tongue over his trembling hole. He teased it with the tip of his finger, soaked it with his lips and mouth. Bart cried out as waves of overwhelming pleasure tingled in Bob’s chest, tingled in his knees and armpits and tongue, tingled behind his eyelids and in his ears. He felt his cock engorged against his belly, felt a boiling hot ring tightening and untightening deep down within, sending waves of hot water streaming through him.</p><p>Bob’s finger entered him. Easily found his prostate and starting popping his finger in out. Bart muscles went loose as he orgasmed all at once, mouth open, eyes closed. The white liquid poured up his chest, Bob watching him. Kept massaging his prostate and the come flowed in an unending stream, all over his belly, his chin. He was shaking now. Shaking as the last of it dripped down to the twisted bed sheets.</p><p>Bob was pushing his thumb over his red leaking cockhead and nipping at the inside of his thighs and all he could do was moan and shudder and squirm underneath him. The tightening at the pit of his belly was starting to ebb and flow through his body as the boy panted, spreading his legs wider for the man to do what he liked with him.</p><p>“Good boy,” he breathed against his slick, pale thigh making Bart whimper into his fist. He pressed his mouth up over to his balls, finger circling against his tight, pink hole that fluttered and clenched and unclenched at the light touch. His wet tongue lathed over the boy’s shaft, before sucking at his balls again, another finger sliding over to tease at his cockhead.</p><p>The boy was squirming and desperately sucking in air, covered in a fine sheen of sweat which Bob lapped up from the insides of his thighs. The younger pressed his hand against the man’s narrow chest. Bob took his wrist and dragged it down between his own legs, where his hardness throbbed through his pants. Bart obediently rubbed him making the fiery tightening in his belly burn so strong he could barely breathe, the man’s other hand still roughly teasing at the boy’s glowing red cock. He shoved his own pants down over his hips and Bart’s mouth filled up with saliva, shoulders rising up high under his ears, hair a mess over his scarlet face. He curled a hand in the boy’s floppy hair, bringing him in closer.</p><p>“Y-y-yes...y-yes...please...y-y-es please...” he tried to say, his breath too short to get the words out. Bob lifted his chin up and pressed their mouths together. He melted into his arms, breath hitching, unable to control his little gasps and writhing moans.</p><p>When they broke the kiss, the man pushed his lips into his neck, nipping up to his ear. He whispered in a voice so husky it made the boy’s heart jump in his chest; “get on your hands and knees.”</p><p>The boy moaned, stomach muscles sucking in. Bob’s insides felt like jelly, skin tingling and prickling, his heart pounding in his throat. Bart’s limbs were shaking so much, he could barely scramble over and Bob helped him into position as he rubbed himself slick and sticky against the sheets, pressing his head into his forearms.</p><p>“I want it...” he mewled, pushing his ass upwards. “I want it, I want it, I want it, please, please...”</p><p>Bob fingers pressed into his hip-bones.</p><p>“Greedy boy.”</p><p>“Uh...uh...”</p><p>There was a bit of a shuffle around for a few seconds, before Bart gasped at the sound of Bob opening up the container of petroleum jelly. The grease was warm and made him shudder but the hand went back to his hip, fingers splayed out firmly, making sure he stayed put.</p><p>“Open up for me,” the man whispered from above him, the insistent touch pressing slickly forward, past the tight ring of muscles inside him. The boy panted open-mouthed, rocking back and forth against the probing fingers</p><p>He prepped him for what seemed like ages, working him up to three thick fingers, stretching and scissoring him open, hand on his hip keeping him still. It went on for so long, sending him into a fit of shivery bucking and writhing underneath him, biting into the pillow, sobbing harshly from his raw red throat. Too good, too good, too damn good...</p><p>He slid over to lift his ass up a little more into the air, thick length sliding up and down over the crease between his cheeks, lighting his nerves on fire.</p><p>“Please...” he croaked hoarsely, not able to stand the teasing anymore, pushing up against the man’s cock. “Please...do it now...do it now...”</p><p>There was a low growling sound from above him, as the large hand pressed into his waist.</p><p>“Such a damn little brat, aren’t you?” snarled and Bart flinched again when he felt the thick blunt head of his cock pushing against him.</p><p>“Hush,” he said immediately, fingers bruising his hipbone as the boy heaved for breath, his hole stretched wide to accommodate the girth of him.</p><p>He slid the head in and out in small jerks, stroking up and down his spine. When he felt the boy’s breathing begin to even out as he got used to the few inches of cock pushed inside him, he gave one of his buttocks a little smack and tried to slide down his hot, tight channel.</p><p>Tight, almost painfully tight, gripping his cock, inner flesh clinging to him. His chest is alight with boiling heat, sweat pours from his forehead, slick down his back. He tries, tries to push in deeper, but Bart moans and thrashes, clenches.</p><p>“Let me in,” he gasped, narrow shoulders heaving. “Let me in.”</p><p>His hole trembled and then finally gave and he slammed in to the hilt, breeching his insides with one brutal movement. He thrusted harder and harder and the boy’s feet were curling and he was clamping up tight around his cock and his eyes were rolling back.</p><p>“Tell me it hurts,” he groaned, head falling back. “Tell me.”</p><p>“It hurts…” he manages to gasp out.</p><p>Bart inner muscles spasmed around the hot organ pushed inside of him, head banging uselessly against the pillow. Bob groaned deep in his chest, starting his steady, achingly slow rhythm pushing his thick cock in and out of the tight body, stuffed to the brim. Bart nearly screamed when the man managed to find the little bundle of nerves deep inside of him with a few thrusts.</p><p>He was pressed into the mattress as he heaved desperately for air, his flushed red skin drenched with sweat, the man’s heavy cock plunging in and out of his asshole again and again and again, hitting his prostate dead-on with each smack of his hips. With each powerful thrust the boy’s hips and cock pushed uselessly against the sheets, sticky with leaking pre-come, Bob’s broad-knuckled hands firm at his waist, not allowing any wriggle room. One hand came down with a smack against the creamy cheeks of Bart’s ass, making the boy whimper deep down in his chest, clenching and biting into sheets beneath him, the man’s cock pounding in harder and harder.</p><p>He could hear himself whispering, low and rough in his chest like a mantra; “I’d gut you like a fish and fuck the open wound, ejaculate in your steaming innards smear your blood over your worthless face.”</p><p>Suddenly, the thick damp head slipped out and Bart let out a whimpering moan. His hole was wet and exposed and it made the pit of Bob’s stomach quiver, taking in the sight of his come speckled ass and slick thighs all shaking uncontrollably. Bob smacked his flank again, wetting two blunt fingers before pushing them in and out of his red, trembling opening, making the boy twist and whine, his mouth falling open, his eyes clenching half shut.</p><p>The older man breathed out hard, before pulling his creamy buttocks even further apart. He went down in and licked a stripe up and then down over the boy’s throbbing red hole, his scratchy stubble tickling over Bart’s sensitive skin.</p><p>The boy was bucking madly against the mattress now, biting into his fist to stop his hitching little breathy noises. The pit of Bob’s stomach was sending waves of boiling water shooting through his body as the boy shuddered and squirmed against the mattress. Probably no-one had ever done something like this to him before but him, the man’s tongue probing and circling and prodding past his clenching muscles.</p><p>Bart gasped voice raw and ragged as the man’s tongue slid back inside him and then out again, thick and wet, tasting and licking the most intimate part of his body. His hand went cracking down against his heated flesh again and he squeezed the sheets so hard Bob thought his knuckles would crack, pushing down desperately into his touch.</p><p>“<em>I’ss so good...i’ss so good...ohpleaseohplease, it’s sogoodsogoodsogood ohgod ohplease oh,oh,oh</em>...”</p><p>All Bart’s breath was rattling uselessly around his lungs as he managed another desperate shaking orgasm, the man sliding his tongue out from his hole. Going back up his body, he turned his head slammed his mouth against his.</p><p>They slid their tongues against one another, only occasionally breaking apart for breath. Bob’s eyes were clouded with lust, pushing his knee between his legs, rubbing himself off against the boy, mattress creaking under their combined weight and activity. He came, groaning and harsh, all over the silky, hairy skin of Bart’s inner thigh.</p><p>Lying together, panting heavily, they come down from their dizzying high. They have barely any time to recover when the usual morning siren blared and all the bars screech open. A guard hollered, “Head count!”</p><p>They break apart. As they get up to pull their clothes back on, Bob automatically reached over to smooth his hair, trying to make it look half way presentable.</p><p>“Thanks Mama,” Bart said in a croaky voice, blinking up at him through sleep encrusted eyes.</p><p>*</p><p>The younger man has dragged him to the movie night. He doesn’t like attending it. It’s always puerile garbage they play even though he’s requested more intellectually stimulating films many a time. They’re playing the Lost Boys tonight. It’s a juvenile romp all about teenagers fighting make believe vampires. He noted absent-mindedly how much the main vampire resembled Bart. Awful creature leeching away at his life force with a smug infuriating grin. And pretty.</p><p>Bart is pretending to sleep but his hand has slid into Bob’s pants. He gripped his cock, pumped as slowly, steadily as he can so nobody noticed. He’s gotten good at it. The pad of his finger caressed the plump head, squeezed the shaft up and down with a pressure not too tight not too soft. Bob stared forward, face unchanging, arm over the back of the boy's seat. He ignored the tight hot clenching and unclenching in his belly.</p><p>When he climaxes he cracks his neck and shoulders around, Bart’s hand slipping out again. He rubbed a bit of it into Bob’s pants just to be a disgusting pest and he shoots him a Gorgon like stare like he could turn him to stone. Smirking, B slipped his fingers into his mouth, licking up every last drop of Bob’s semen.</p><p>He wished he could stake him through the heart like his doppelgänger on the screen.</p><p>*</p><p>Lisa is banned from visiting for the next few months.</p><p>“What is that?” she said suddenly in the middle of a chat and Bart blinked dazedly at her. She reached over yanked down the collar of his shirt. The initials blare on his skin, scabbing over, nasty and inflamed.</p><p>“R.U.T.J,” she mouthed and then it clicks. Bob is in the middle of a talk with Cecil when she lunges for him, scratching right under his eye. The guards pounce on her.</p><p>“You sick fucking freak!” she screeched, eyes full of hellfire, spit flying from her mouth. He laughed as the guards grab her, pulling her up as she kicked her legs and swung her arms. She liked to act like she’s more proper and dignified then the rest of her family when really she’s just as feral as all of them. She reminded Bob of a younger female version of himself, forceful with a big ego. Always trying to show the world that she’s so much more than the lower class peasants she’s surrounded by when in reality she’s just as angry and wild as any plebeian from the suburbs. On the right path now, accepted into Yale at a startlingly young age, but one wrong step and she might end up exactly like him.</p><p>He hoped so. It would be wonderful if she ruined her life like he had had. The more suffering the accursed family went through the better.</p><p>“Oh don’t worry he’s very happy with our arrangement, my dear,” he said to her. “He positively loves it.”</p><p>They drag her out, still spitting and thrashing like an angry cat. Cecil just stared between him and the boy, a look of great discomfort on his face.</p><p>“Really Robert?” he said, shaking his head. “That’s really…that’s just…”</p><p>He looked like he’s swallowed vinegar, unable to form words. Cecil’s never been nearly as mad or twisted as him. He doesn’t hide a vicious animal behind a mask of properness.</p><p>“So, you don’t want me to get the lawyers on the case then?” he finally said. “Am I right in assuming you don’t want to be separated anymore?”</p><p>“That’s right,” he said back with a crocodile grin, feeling the scratch marks on his face twinge with pain. Later in the cell, Bart grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him right under the eye over the three bloody lines.</p><p>*</p><p>“Not as hungry as usual,” she drawled in Italian through her smeared lipstick mouth. “You’ve found a hole to fuck in here, haven’t you?”</p><p>He just smiled lazily as he stroked her hair.</p><p>Normally on their conjugal visits he loses his damn mind, absolutely ravaging her until her voice is hoarse from screaming. He was the type that enjoyed switching between the submissive and dominant role and he does like the encounters in the laundry he must admit. Being in the receiving position meant he could just shut his brain off for once, relax and let someone else do the work. But usually he never got to take the dominant role except for the occasional conjugal that wardens enjoyed cancelling on a whim.</p><p>Francesca was much like him, bisexual, versatile, with a flippant attitude towards monogamy. She sent him letters in Italian full of lurid descriptions of her escapades with beautiful women. Tying them up and seeing how many of her fingers she could fit up their holes. In Italy they tended to switch with each other more but in the outside world, Francesca was always dominant and craving a chance to be submissive while Bob in prison was always submissive and craving a chance to be dominant. So it all worked out for them very well during their conjugal visits.</p><p>“Yes,” he slithers back at her.</p><p>“Tell me,” she whispered. They both get off seeing the other fuck. When Bob brought pretty young boys and girls into their bed, she’d lie on the mattress watching with heavily lidded eyes, circling her clit with her fingertip wet and hot. When Francesca did the same, Bob watched from the armchair in the corner, lazily stroking his cock as her full mouth bobbed on other men, or slurped between women’s thighs.</p><p>“I make him bleed,” he breathed into her perfumed hair. “He looks like he’s been in a car accident when I’m through with him.”</p><p>She sighed with bliss.</p><p>“He’s your little prison bitch is he?” she said.  Bob’s smile fell, not knowing what to say to that. He felt like somehow, he’s the bitch in all of this. Merely Bart’s personal fidget toy just there to alleviate his boredom.</p><p>Francesca notices his sudden discomfort. She stroked his hair and kissed his chest.</p><p>“Don’t fret, Roberto,” she said. “You look ugly when you do.”</p><p>He can’t help but smile at that.</p><p>When he arrived back into the cell he took his usual seat at the table, flicking through his papers he needed to redo after the ink had been spilt all over them. Bart came into the cell, making an instant beeline for him.</p><p>“Baby wants milk,” he said, palming the older man’s crotch and then laughed at the disgusted face he pulled.</p><p>“You’re a repulsive little animal,” he snarled as the boy got down on his knees, nuzzling between Bob’s thighs.</p><p>“All for you,” he replied as he fished the man’s cock out of his pants.</p><p>He’s not like Francesca, who likes to hollow her cheeks and take him into her mouth as she stares into his eyes, teases him so slow it makes him want to grab a chunk of her raven hair and tear it bloody out of her skull. No, no the boy has no elegance or style at all, his mouth working him sloppy and amateurish. His teeth graze the shaft and he flinched before twisting his hand viciously in his blond hair. Bart smiled around him as his eyes fill with tears of pain. His saliva is thick and white, coating him, collecting at the base.</p><p>The heated organ was heavy on his tongue and he couldn’t get much of his lips around the shaft without spit running down from his mouth and his jaw aching. He popped his lips off and gasped in air, eyes running madly, before he just kissed the tip and along the length of the man’s cock, one hand wrapped around the base. He pushed his other stubby hands into his lap, staring down so his hair covered his face.</p><p>Then he slid off with a wet pop. Wiping his sopping cheeks, he wrapped both hands around the base of his cock and slipped the red tip of his tongue out over the dark, leaking head, before covering it with his lips. Reaching down, the man took a hold of his hair.</p><p>“B-B-Bob...Bob...”</p><p>He pushed the younger man’s mouth back down on him, hearing his excited snuffling. Gripping the back of his skull and pushing it steadily up and down over his cock, fucking his face in a hard, relentless rhythm.</p><p>“Watch your fucking teeth,” he said to him suddenly and Bart gagged, slipped his teeth under his lips, fresh tears sliding down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. His throat felt raw, his lips felt ready to tear, his knees were seizing up, his jaw about to would snap in two.</p><p>Then Bob let up again and Bart sucked in the air, his own sticky pre-cum soaking his stubby hands. He swallowed and heaved, face a red mess of dripping tears, spit and mucus. Oh God, he loved it, he loved it, he loved it...</p><p>“I can taste your wife’s pussy on your cock,” Bart said. Immediately his hand flies up, striking him and he falls to the ground with a laugh.</p><p>Taking him by the wrist he pulled him up, sat him in his lap facing away from him. Tugging his pants down, he sees he’s decided to forgo underwear today. He pinched his ass. Picking up their well-used Vaseline container, he scooped some of the slick into his hand.</p><p>Bob's fingers dig into the soft flesh of his stomach, other hand on the slight curve of his hip, forcing him down, down onto his length. Bart's eyes are screwed shut, mouth hanging open with the pain.</p><p>He reaches up to smack his cheek, where his hand-print was still faintly bruised across his skin.</p><p>“Keep your eyes open,” he hissed. He wished he was big enough to make him gape, to really do some damage.</p><p>Bart ejaculated over himself as soon as Bob hit his prostate. So, so young. He flopped forward, completely boneless, fingertips brushing the concrete floor. Bob kept pulling his hips up and down over his cock. Soon, with a whine, Bart grew hard once again. The semen drooled down over the floor in a steady dripping puddle. Bob grunted, finding that the position wasn’t working for him.</p><p>“Get up,” he hissed.</p><p>He rose to his feet on shaking legs as the older man turned him roughly around, pushed his pants down further, patting his lap for him to sit. Squirming Bart tried to keep back the hitching whimpers, his thighs spread on either side of the older man’s skinny hipbones.</p><p>One of Bob’s hands went to his waist, pushing in so painfully he thought his bones would break, pushing him downwards against the blunt head of his cock. Bart tried to brace himself, tried to shift to a more comfortable angle but Bob’s fingers only dug in more, dragging him further down. Bart’s eyes squeezed shut.</p><p>“B-B..B-Bob...uh...uh.... fuck please...” then his mouth fell wide open and the tears bubbled in endless streams down his face, only hoarse gasps escaping him. His body spasmed and his head fell back, before he was wracked with a series of jerking tremors as the knife-like pain split him in two.</p><p><em>“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, please Bob please, please,</em> <em>please uhhh</em>...”</p><p>He kept his iron grip on his waist pushing him down inch after agonizing inch and Bart writhed and he moaned and then he just collapsed onto his thin chest. Bob could feel his own lips curving into a crooked smile against the boy’s sweat-slicked shoulder and Bart shuddered, burying his head into the crook of his neck, his cock red and quivering pressed between his belly and Bob’s shirt. The man rocked his shaking frame up and down on the length of his cock, harder and harder until the boy couldn’t speak for the high-pitched moans. He kept trying to get used to the new position, pushing back and forth against the cock jammed up his ass, semen speckled on his thighs. In the mirror Bob saw his own eyes sparking with a pitch-dark malice.</p><p>The man twisted up, pressing Bart’s down. He kept thrusting, a rocking, torturous rhythm, Bart’s breath hitching with each merciless snap upwards. He was curled against Bob with his eyes clenched shut and his fingers pushed in his mouth, whimpering and whimpering.</p><p>Bob paused in the continuous piston of his hips and Bart bucked up and down still fully seated on his lap. The man grabbed him to stop him moving. Bart looked at him with huge eyes before he made a tortured noise when he pulled his still throbbing cock out of his body, like a knife out of a wound. In a second, he found himself on his back on the concrete floor with Bob looming over him which was frightening enough, but then he was between his legs, pushing them back until his knees were jammed against his shoulders, one hand shooting out to squeeze his windpipe into a death grip.</p><p>He grasped at the older man’s forearm, heaving around the spidery fingers that were crushing the air out of his lungs. Bob slid into him and the muscles in Bart’s stomach cramped violently, gagging for oxygen as Bob kept twisting in his cock like a blade and wrenching it out over and over, the boy's insides all raw and tender.</p><p>Then the man gritted his teeth and slammed the boy's head around viciously, feeling like his neck might just snap. Bob’s bones creaked and Bart’s skull thumped painfully at the floor. His hand squeezed and everything seemed to be shrinking down to the grip at Bart's neck and the heated organ thrusting inside his body.</p><p>Bob's muscles twitched and pulled tight as he increased the pressure on his throat, the clamping inside Bart's body making the pleasure wrack through him.</p><p>Bending down, he scraped his teeth against his fluttering pulse point. He bit down until blood dribbled down over his throat and it was too much, he was tonguing the bite-mark to make it sting more, before sinking his teeth in again and Bart was clenching up, he was so far inside him he thought he might just be in his stomach and Bob made a animalistic noise into his neck and the boy was spiraling out of control, spurting another load of come all over Bob’s shirt.</p><p>A deep sound was rumbling from within Bob’s chest. He bit in again so far gone he thought he might just rip the boy’s throat out. Then he was up above him, with blood staining his bared teeth, jamming in one last time, releasing so far up inside his belly, Bob thought he’d feel it there for weeks afterwards. He collapsed on top of him, crushing his body into the burning hot concrete.</p><p>“Am I better fuck then her?” Bart managed to breath out. Bob just pressed his long fingers into the bloody bite mark on his neck until the boy squirmed with delighted agony beneath him.</p><p>*</p><p>Bart’s release date has snuck up on them. Soon he’ll be gone. They drink the wine and he turns on his little radio to the classical music channel. Piano  drifted out and it reminded him of a song he’d once heard. Getting up he takes the boy into his arms and slow danced him around the cell, Bart’s head pressed underneath the older man’s chin. He sang deep down from his chest into the boy’s hair.</p><p>“When I come back to life I’ll find you. Push my thumbs into your eyes and blind you. And when you hear your name called out across a crowded street. You’ll think of me and swear the ground was stolen from your feet.”</p><p>He hums in his ear, pressing his mouth against his temple, his blond hair tickling at his nose.</p><p>“In the old apartment or the place beneath the stairs, reaching with a groping palm or a vacant stare, call the cops or call one of your well-meaning friends. Time will see them scatter off to fight what they defend.”</p><p>They sway together to the piano as Bart’s eyes flutter, wrapped up in his bony embrace.<br/><br/>“If you die tomorrow or a hundred years from now, there won’t be an article or a furrowed brow. Yours is like the spirit of the breeze that blows through town. No one remembers unless it knocks something down.”</p><p>He’s slack in his arms, loose and compliant. Bob spends the rest of their last night furiously fucking, sucking, licking and biting at the boy like he wants to eat him alive.</p><p>“When I get out I’m going to track you down,” he whispered into his ear as his arm tightened around his throat. “You’ll never know when I’ll find you again. But when I do, I’m going to bend you over the nearest flat surface and fuck you until you bleed yourself dry.”</p><p>Bart let out a strangled laugh.</p><p>“They’re never letting you out,” he wheezed back.</p><p>“Who said anything about the prison releasing me?” he said. “I’ll find my own way out, Bart.”</p><p>That lovely mix of fear and arousal floods into his eyes. He’s going to miss it.</p><p>*</p><p>It was strange how only a little while ago he’d been tired out, over it, content to waste away in his prison cell forever. Not even his own family could convince him to try to break free. He’d spent a horrible, sweaty lust filled summer with the boy and now his cell was empty again. There was still a faint dark rusty mark on the bed frame that he’d smashed his forehead into and made him bleed. Sometimes he’d climb into the bottom bunk and stare at the stain, remembering the taste of his blood, panting as he furiously pleasured himself.</p><p>Nowadays he spent a lot of time examining the structure of the window, tugging at the bars and feeling the old crumbling stone that could be chipped away. It seemed too basic though. He’d like to break out with a bit more of a theatrical flair. Perhaps grab the supposed hard as nails warden from behind and put his razor to her neck, forcing them to let him out or he’d give her a second red smile underneath her chin. His psychiatrist buried his face in his hands and sighed long and hard. All his hard work to waste. The old obsession was back, darker and more twisted then it had ever been before.</p><p>But it was nice, he thought as he sat in the yard with his hand in his pocket, toying with his blade, watching the warden stride down the path outside the fence. It was nice to have a reason to want to get out again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Quote from Dracula by Bram Stoker.</p><p>Song lyrics, Ghostsong by Daniel Knox.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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